this is the hard one-- first and above all peace in my life no
drama i worked for many years for my self --being a wage slave is
to much like being in prison--- which i have no use for
my highs come from having the ability to build ,fix and repair many
things i
am of a gentle spirit love and kindness mean more to me then all
the riches in this world setting by a fire watching the flames
flicker does more for me then concert,bar room or traveling i don't
drink and don't like to be around people who do--if you cry at sad
movies is a plus , live by your word +honesty+ kindhearted+ weeping
spirit + if you are looking just to date or a quick roll i'm not
interested
just a couple of my favorites and i will close
A BIT OF QUAKER WISDOM

That we are not only the victims or the beneficiaries of our
environment, but often the actual makers of it, at least to a large
extent, is a thought that is gradually finding its way into human
consciousness. Here is an old story that illustrates the
point:

A man who had just moved into a small Pennsylvania town fell into
conversation with an old Quaker who was accustomed to sit on a
bench in the quiet square in the center of the village.
“What kind of people live here?” asked the newcomer.
“What manner of people didst thee live amongst before?” inquired
the Quaker.
“Oh, they were mean, narrow, suspicious, and very unfair,” answered
the man.
“Then,” said the Quaker, “I am sorry, friend, but thee will find
the same manner of people here.”
Not long afterward the old Quaker was accosted by another man who
had come to live in the town.
“What sort of people are they here?” the stranger asked.
“What manner of people didst thee live amongst before?” inquired
the olds man.
“Friend,” he answered, “there were the finest folks in the world.
They were so friendly, kind and lovable, I hated to leave
them.”
The old Quaker beamed.
“Welcome, neighbor,” he said, “be of good cheer, for thee will find
the same good people here!”

Senator Vest’s Tribute to the Dog

It is strange how tenaciously poplar memory clings to the bits of
eloquence men have uttered, long after their deeds and most of
their recorded thoughts are forgotten, or but indifferently
remembered. Wherever and as long as the name of the late Senator
Vest of Missouri is mentioned, it will always be associated with
the beautiful tribute he once uttered in praise of man’s most
faithful companion.
Many years ago Senator Vest represented in a law-suit a plaintiff
whose dog had been wantonly shot by a neighbor. Damages of $200
were asked, but after two minutes’ deliberation the jury awarded
the plaintiff $500, as the result of the following words by his
attorney:

“Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in this world may
turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he
has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are
nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness
and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money
that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when
he needs it the most. A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a
moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall
on their knees to do us honor when success is with us, may be the
first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud
upon our heard. The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can
have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him and the
that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.
“Gentlemen of the Jury, a man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and
in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold
ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely,
if only he may be near his master’s side. He will kiss the hand
that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that
come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the
sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other
friends desert he remains. When the riches take wings and
reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the
sun in it’s journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the
master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the
faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him
to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the
last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in it’s embrace
and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all
other friends pursue their way, there by his grave-side will the
noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but
open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.

WHEN IS A MAN A MAN

When he can look out over the rivers, the hills, and the far
horizon with a
profound sense of his own littleness in the vast scheme of things,
and yet have faith, hope, and courage -- which is the root of every
virtue. When he knows that down in his heart every man is as noble,
as vile, as divine, as diabolic, and as lonely as himself, and
seeks to know, to forgive and to love his fellow man.
When he knows how to sympathize with men in their sorrows, yea,
even in their sins -- knowing that each man fights a hard fight
against many odds. When he has learned how to make friends, and to
keep them, and above all how to keep friends with himself.
When he loves flowers, can hunt birds without a gun, and feels the
thrill of an old forgotten joy when he hears the laughter of a
little child. When he can be happy and high-minded amid the meaner
drudgeries of life. When the star-crowned trees, and the glint of
sunlight on flowing waters subdue him like the thought of one much
loved and gone home. When no voice of distress reaches his ears in
vain and no hand seeks his aid without response. When he finds good
in every faith that helps man to lay hold of divine things and see
majestic meanings in life, whatever the name of that faith might
be.
When he can look into a wayside puddle and see something beyond
mud, and into the face of the most forlorn fellow mortal and see
something beyond sin. When he has kept faith with himself, with his
fellow man, with his God; in his hand a sword for evil, in his
heart a bit of song -- glad to live, but not afraid to die!